


meltdown

by bossymarmalade (maggie)



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Bets, M/M, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-26
Updated: 2010-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:12:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggie/pseuds/bossymarmalade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>crazy roadtrips and a hot night in mexico</p>
            </blockquote>





	meltdown

**Author's Note:**

> set during the "havok &amp; wolverine: meltdown" limited series.
> 
> standard foreword: if i have written something problematic/oppressive to a marginalized group that you find hurtful, please please please don't think twice about telling me. i will never spew hate at you, will never attack you, and i will always thank you and make the change.

Three days seemed about right.

After all, it would take an act of God to keep Logan out of trouble for a longer period of time. The guy seemed to be _born_ for trouble.

But then again, Alex mused, look who's talking.

He hunched his shoulders a bit more, hooking his feet on the rung of the barstool and wincing as Logan said something rude about the big fat Mexican guy's sister. What was it about this town that made all its inhabitants seem like extras from an old John Wayne movie? Nearly every person they'd met so far had been your stereotypical old-western nightmare -- rude, lazy, shifty. It made Alex cringe, frankly, but Logan didn't seem to care and breezed through the town like they owned it.

The smash of one of the bar's cheap wooden chairs on the fat guy's face signaled the start of the usual Wolverine fracas. The chair splintered into a thousand pieces; everything in this bar was cheap. Cheap and dirty. Swirling his flat beer around in his spotty glass, Alex belatedly considered that perhaps he should have drunk it straight from the bottle. Oh well. Too late now. After all, he'd already polished off quite a few before this one, so he was well past caring.

"Sure you don't want to call off our bet?" he asked, raising the glass to his lips. A grunt and meaty, _schlukk_ kind of sound behind him, and then a grating "Nope."

This was followed in quick succession by more wood splintering on human bone and more bodies being tossed around before Logan continued what he was saying. It was a skill Alex had always sort of admired. He could normally manage some witty banter or the occasional impressive-sounding Hero Line during a fight, but not the unhurried conversation that Logan pulled off.

"Even if this was a serious exercise in international diplomacy -- which it ain't -- I wouldn't _need_ claws ta deal with these suckers!"

True enough, Alex admitted to himself as he took a long, lukewarm drink of the beer. Watching Logan fight was...it was wondrous and terrifying and brutally _real_ all at the same time. There wasn't one of the X-Men who, having fought alongside the ol' Canucklehead, hadn't been painfully glad that he was working _this_ side of the angels.

A broken beer bottle whizzed past Alex's ear as he tilted his head slightly, listening to Logan declare, "No _way_ I'm buyin' the drinks the rest of our vacation."

"Whatever you say," Alex said neutrally. "It's your fight. You started it." Bits of brown glass pattered tinkly onto the bar, leaving splatters of blood across its worn and stained wood. Smiling wryly, he added, "Enjoy yourself."

The cantina (which had been none too fragrant before) was starting to fill up with the hot heavy smell of sweat and blood and hoppy spilled beer as Logan worked his way through the fat Mexican's entire posse, making sure that not a one of them escaped his due punishment. You had to admire the guy's tenacity, Alex thought, squinting at the cloudy beer left in his glass as he held it up to the light. He frowned a bit harder and sniffed at the thin liquid. Was it possible to open a beer bottle, siphon off half the contents, fill it up with piss and recap it in such a way that the next unsuspecting gringo who happened to order a cerveza got the tainted bottle?

Plonking the glass back down onto the bar, Alex decided that not only was this possible, it was highly probable. There _had_ to be at least one mutant in this little tumbleweed town, and in all likelihood, this mutant's mutant power was to urinate in beer bottles and then recap them perfectly. Or, no, there was one other mutant in the town and _he_ was responsible for turning everybody into bad Latin stereotypes. Yeah, that was it.

Logan's aggrieved voice cut into his revelation as Alex clutched the glass yet again. "I started it? _I_ started it??" Some poor idiot went flying over Alex's head, bearing the brunt of Logan's agitation. "How d'you figure that?"

Alex made a concerted effort to keep that Summers "Moral High-Ground" tone out of his voice. It almost worked. "You shouldn't have made that crack about his sister."

"Traditional response, friend o' mine." The sounds of breaking and bleeding had quieted down now somewhat, what with the majority of the combatants being unconscious or otherwise incapacitated. Logan's raspy voice sounded much, much louder. "You got somethin' against tradition?"

Standing up, Alex turned, leaning one elbow against the bar as he surveyed the scene of wreckage before him. It was like that scene in "Gone With the Wind", where Scarlett went down to the trainyard and saw all the soldiers spread out, dying and moaning and generally in poor shape. Lorna had made him sit with her and watch that movie every time it was playing on TV. He'd seen it _waaaaay_ too many times.

Alex shook his head slightly to banish thoughts of Lorna. That was _all_ he needed now, right after this big Inferno fiasco, after Scott and Malice and Madelyne. "You finished here?" he asked abruptly.

"In a minute." Logan straddled one of the men on the floor who had been in the middle of crawling away. He raised one fist, menacingly, and Alex noted (with some small disappointment) that it was just an ordinary fist. A little thicker and heavier than most, but no telltale claws popping from the back. Still, considering the state of the guy Logan was sitting on, claws weren't necessary for inflicting pain.

"Refer to my mother as a 'puta' again, bub, I'll slice yer face off."

There wasn't much for the fat Mexican to say.

. .. ... .. .

Their room was small, but actually kind of nice. Two fairly clean single beds, curtains, running water, no more roaches than were reasonable. There'd been a couple of rats the first night, but nothing some razor-sharp adamantium claws and focused solar energy couldn't kill. That didn't count, they'd decided. Using your powers for pest control wasn't the same as using them in a fight, which was what the bet eventually narrowed down to.

Only problem was the heat; the humidity of the Gulf Coast of Mexico was totally different from the arid heat of the Australian outback. At least there was a breeze blowing, Alex thought thankfully as he tossed himself onto his bed, staring up at the flaking stucco ceiling and idly scratching his stomach through his white undershirt.

"Wanna go grab some empanadas?" Logan asked from the bathroom. Alex raised his thick-feeling head slightly from the pillow. He could just barely make out Logan's right side through the angle of the doorway. He watched as Logan stripped off his own tank top -- they were travelling light -- and dropped it on the floor. The jeans were next, pulled off in quick, almost violent motions, Alex blearily registering glimpses of skin, thighs, hair. It wasn't like it was new. He'd seen Logan naked before. It was inevitable once you took up Xavier's cause; you were gonna get hurt and you were gonna get naked, welcome to the X-Men, hope you survive. He'd seen Logan naked before. Which was why it was so confusing that he rather suddenly felt like a voyeur.

Frowning, Alex let his head drop back against the pillow. "I'm not hungry," he said. "It's too goddamn hot to eat. It's pretty much too hot to _breathe_." He raked his hands through his hair, which was damp and spiky. Thank God he'd gotten Ali to cut it short before they headed out here. Logan had discovered that hair gel was the key to hot-weather hairstyling, and after a few requisite jibes, Alex had let it go. The guy had few enough assets when it came to looks to pick on him for his one vanity.

Not that it looked _bad_ or anything, Alex amended hastily, feeling guilty. In fact, at this point he couldn't imagine Logan looking any other way.

"Figures." Logan sounded amused.

"What?" Alex demanded, irritated but not enough to really _do_ anything about it. "_What_ figures?"

Logan appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, casually leaning one elbow against the jamb and scratching his hairy chest with the other hand. Shit, Alex thought muggily as his eyes traveled along that hard, compact body, he's...he's bigger than I thought.

Immediately embarrassed, he flicked his gaze back to the ceiling as Logan continued to talk, sounding _more_ amused, if anything. "Figures you'd get filled up on beer," he grunted. "Skinny guys -- you're all the same. Lightweight drunks."

Alex sat up a bit, opening his mouth to object, when he noticed the way Logan was looking at him. Like, _looking_. Up and down, slow and unashamed. The protests stuck in his throat and Alex felt his skin flush impossibly hotter.

Buck up, Summers, he told himself sternly. You're imagining things. Heatstroke. You're drunk and you've got heatstroke. Yeah, that sounded about right.

In the time it took Alex to sufficiently calm the rush of blood to his head, his skin, and other more intimate places, Logan had turned, disappearing from the doorway. This was good. This meant he hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. Trying to convince himself that the funny feeling in his stomach was relief or maybe even indigestion, Alex went back to studying the geography of the ceiling.

The tap in the bathroom was turned on full force as Logan stuck his head under the faucet, dousing himself and scrubbing at his arms, scratching all the dried blood off. Alex held his own arms up, flexing them consideringly, watching the play of his long, lean muscles under his fair skin. He was already a bit sunburned, despite his efforts to keep his arms covered in direct sunlight. Logan's forearms were all tough skin and coarse hair; massive and heavy, they were weapons all by themselves, never mind the deadly claws they housed. Alex let his arms drop to his sides and glared at the ceiling. "I hope those people under us don't have another fiesta tonight," he said loudly. A snuffle from under the water told him that Logan had heard and agreed.

"Not that I mind 'em havin' a good time," he called, his rusty voice echoing in the bathroom. "But the least they could've done was invite us."

"Private party," Alex mumbled. "The music and drinking was just foreplay. Very _loud_, keep-me-awake-all-night foreplay, but foreplay all the same."

He shut his eyes, bringing his arms to rest crossed over his stomach. The couple in the room underneath theirs were young newlyweds, which meant lots of festivities and lots of lovemaking. The sounds had come up clearly through the floor, even through the music that they'd left on until the morning. Moans, gasps, screams, and some extremely graphic exhortations, the translations for which Alex's limited-but-dirty Spanish served quite well. He'd spent the entire night on his belly, trying not to rip the pillow to shreds in frustration, trying to think of something else, trying to get his mind out of the gutter it was happily wallowing in.

None of which worked, of course. He'd ended up limping awkwardly to the bathroom and biting down on his tongue to make sure Logan's extra-sensitive hearing wouldn't hear his strained moans while he was in there.

A groan from the springs of Logan's bed -- he got the really creaky one -- told Alex that he'd come out of the bathroom. He could hear Logan's steady breathing, the flat sound the dry soles of his feet made against the concrete floor, the drip-drip-drip on the bedsheets.

"You're dripping," Alex murmured, eyes still closed, wondering why it was suddenly so hard to breathe.

Logan didn't answer. Alex was just about to say something else when one huge, strong hand snagged the front of his shirt, yanking him up, hard. His eyes flew open just as his body made contact with Logan's, breath hissing sharply through his teeth as the water on Logan's skin soaked through his clothes. Oddly, Alex's mind was detachedly taking stock of the situation -- _he's on top of me, he's on my bed, he's *on top of* me_ \-- while his heart thudded madly and he stared, wild-eyed, into Logan's so-close face. _I'm gonna die,_ his mind spat out suddenly. _He's gone nuts and he's gonna kill me and I'm gonna fuckin' **die** in this rathole._

The plasma charge was already building in Alex's hands when Logan's mouth pressed down against his, kissing him so hard that Alex gulped in surprise. Logan's other hand, the one not clenching Alex's shirtfront, wrapped around his waist, lifting his hips to meet the body above him. Alex gasped into Logan's mouth as they rubbed together, both of them hard, ready, wanting, and his blood surged.

"Do it," Alex snarled, grasping the sides of Logan's face. He'd never wanted anyone so much as he wanted Logan at this moment, here in this cheap hotel in the blistering heat, with the window wide open and paper-thin walls. All of the weighty, God-awful responsibility that came with great power was miles and miles away, waiting in Australia. It could wait a while longer.

Letting go momentarily, Logan let the younger man thump back onto the mattress and had started undoing his pants when Alex stopped him. "Hang on," he said with a grin. "Let's switch to your bed."

Shrugging, Logan picked Alex up by the waistband and swung him over. "Comfier?" he asked, ignoring the glare Alex was giving him for the manhandling.

"No." The grin was back again. "_Noisier._"

Logan grinned too, showing white, pointed teeth. "That's the spirit." He hauled Alex's pants and boxers off and got onto his bed, arranging those long, thin legs on either side of him. Wrapping one hand around Alex's cock, Logan squeezed and released firmly, gauging Alex's response by his moans. Then he leaned down and followed his hand with his mouth. From the strangled cry Alex gave, arching up from the bed, this met with unmitigated approval.

Panting for air, Alex strained against the Logan's hot, demanding mouth, dumbfounded that anything could feel _this_ good. This good, and yeah he was drunk and maybe that was a lot of the reason for this -- God, how clichéd could they _be_, getting loaded and fucking -- but dammit, they were on a road trip. The whole point of getting away for a while was to get away from worrying about this kind of thing, worrying about repercussions and being responsible. And maybe it wasn't his fault, anyhow -- maybe the town's stupid clichéd-ness was spreading. Alex panted out a laugh and wriggled, hands twisting in the sheets, as two of Logan's fingers slowly entered him, the unfamiliar feeling raising goosebumps on his arms. It was amazing, it was wonderful, it was -- so fucking _weird_ he could barely believe it, if it weren't for the sensations that were taking over his body.

But Logan was sucking faster and harder now, and Alex felt himself hurtling toward climax, and he panicked, shoving his fingers into Logan's surprisingly nice hair, gasping, "No...no...!" with rising despair, and then before he knew what was happening Logan was lying against him and kissing him and he was coming, hollering into Logan's salty mouth, coming as Logan's hand slowed its relentless pace and finally let go, his hand wet and strong.

"What --" Alex gasped, pressing his head back against the pillow as Logan licked his neck. The feel of that tongue made him damn near lose his mind, and he blurted, "what's...what's Scott gonna say?!?" He heard himself and groaned inwardly. Of all the stupid questions....

"Screw 'im," Logan growled, pulling up. "Screw 'em all."

"Good idea." Alex watched, fascinated and with growing excitement, as Logan slicked his own cock with his wet hand, settling his heavy haunches between Alex's legs. He felt he should say something, like he _needed_ to say something, but by the time he was ready to make some sort of comment Logan was inside him in one smooth thrust and Alex couldn't do anything but stare unfocused and wide-eyed at the ceiling, then at Logan's face when he lay along the length of him. And even then he couldn't say anything because he was dimly aware of making some sort of long, drawn-out moan and being entranced by how fucking _deep_ Logan's eyes were.

"Y'okay?" that familiar rattly voice asked as Logan stroked his hair, incongruously gentle, comfortingly tender. Alex managed a nod and a shaky smile, wrapping his arms around the other man, fascinated by the thick slabs of muscle in his back.

"Jesus, don't stop," he gasped, and Logan smiled, dropping him another kiss before rocking his hips again.

Every movement Logan made sparked something inside Alex, and he just lay back and let it happen, let his body become accustomed to it, yearn for it, press toward it. He slowly began to push back against Logan -- who was heavy as hell, by the way -- and move with the rhythm of those thick hips, hearing the bed squeak annoyedly and enjoying every sound, every skrick and moan and gasp and grunt and creak. Let those fucking newlyweds beat this! Alex thought dazedly, wrapping his arms around the other man's neck as Logan speeded up his pace and everything in the world compressed into one tight little ball and then flew apart into a million billion multicoloured little pieces.

This was turning out to be one _hell_ of a vacation.


End file.
